


Perfect

by lennongirl



Category: Life as a House (2001), Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Crossover, Dream Sex, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennongirl/pseuds/lennongirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam isn’t gay. He’s just in lust with Curt Wild.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Written in June 2005.

Sam isn’t hungry. Even if he was, he wouldn’t have dinner. Everyone knows, even the brats. But still, he can tell it’s just gonna be a matter of seconds until his mother will come and… _there_.

“Sam?”

Her voice is soft and Sam really doesn’t understand why she gives a shit at all. It’s not as if it wasn’t like this every other evening. It’s the very same procedure every night, and Sam is torn between thinking that she just doesn’t take him seriously enough or that she’s just a glutton for verbal punishment. There once was a time when he might have thought that she cared and really wanted him to be there, but Sam’s old enough to know that such bullshit exists in movies only. The kind of movies he never watches, to be precise.

“Sam? Are you coming?”

Maybe she just can’t help it. And since she asks for it, he’ll give her what she wants.

“FUCK OFF!” he yells from where he’s lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her and everyone else living in this house to finally fuck off for good and just leave him alone - forever.

He can hear her sighing softly and then, finally, walking away from his room. His. Not hers, not Peter’s, not anyone else’s. 

Sam gets off the bed as soon as he’s sure nobody’s going to bother him for the rest of the night. It’s not that he really cares about anyone catching him - he passed the point of caring when he was 14. He just doesn’t want to be disturbed, that’s all. 

He digs through his drawers and pulls out the sock he hides his weed in. There’s not much left of it; Sam knows this joint will be the last from this batch. He could maybe divide it up into two smaller portions, but Sam would rather get high once for real than having two almost there experiences. Besides, it's good stuff, so one last roll it'll be then.

He tries not to think too much about where he got the money for it from while he rolls up. He tries not to think about Josh’s offer while he steps outside onto the little balcony.

Sam isn’t gay. A few handjobs here and there, so what. He needs the money. He doesn’t fancy men. He’s all for girls, well, he thinks he is. He hasn’t had any yet, but he’s sure he wouldn’t mind. It doesn’t really matter, as long as he can feel this - the very first intake, swallowing the smoke, feeling it fill his lungs, keeping it there as long as possible. Until it burns. And then, exhaling slowly, closing his eyes and taking another drag. And another. And another. And when he feels the drug hitting his system, Sam eventually relaxes.

No, Sam isn’t gay. 

But… Curt.

It had started before Sam found out that some freaks would pay him for jerking them off. Back then, Sam had to get money elsewhere, preferably from his mother’s secret cash stack. But Robin Kimball was no fool; instead of punishing Sam when she found out, she simply cleared her secret hiding place. Instead, all Sam got was lectures like “tell me what you need it for”, “Sam, if you’re in trouble”, “you’ll get some as soon as you start accepting this family” and similar themes.

But something good came out of it. Sam didn’t give up that easy, and while he went through his mother’s stuff again in order to find any bills, he came across something much better. 

It was a small box, filled with newspaper clippings from a long time ago. Most of the stuff was well over twenty, if not thirty years old, telling about a time when Sam’s mother was a teen herself. There were the usual faces Sam recognised from those freaky “All hail the 70s” -shows. And the there was Curt. Clippings of Curt in various stages of being dressed, Curt with Brian, Curt with shorter hair, Curt with longer hair, Curt with glitter, Curt with make up. One pic of Curt naked.

Sam nabbed everything he could find and started his very own clippings box. He did some research and even found an old record; a friend who still owed him one made him a CD copy. Listening to Curt, while jerking off quickly, became Sam’s new favourite pastime.

Sam isn’t gay. He’s just in lust with Curt Wild. Sam doesn’t know and doesn’t care what Curt is doing these days, what he looks like. All he knows is that his very own fantasy of Curt is perfect. Curt wouldn’t have to pay him for a handjob. Fuck, Sam would pay Curt to whack him, blow him, even.

Sam kills the joint, snaps it off into the darkness and turns to go back into his room, the movement making his body fully realise he’s under the influence. He stumbles slightly as he makes his way over to the mirror, looking at himself.

_Perfect._

The make up he put on earlier looks just perfect. The eye shadow is dark and smudgy and just the way he’d wanted it to look. Not bad for a first try. Sam is pleased with himself. Curt would be, too.

He smiles at himself in the mirror; it’s a lazy, stoned smile. 

“You look perfect,” he says to himself and chuckles at his own silliness. His mother would probably love to see him like this, smiling and amused. But all this is not for her.

Sam slowly staggers back to his bed and falls down on it. He closes his eyes and needs a moment to adjust, he’s still dizzy. Maybe the strong joint wasn’t the best idea he had. Then again, he can’t remember being that stoned for quite some time, which is a good thing.

Once he’s sure he won’t faint any minute or do something equally stupid, he lets his hand wander down his body. It feels like ages until he’s reached the waistband of his shorts. He reaches inside and teases himself, his fingers brushing his cock, bringing it to life in a self torturingly lazy manner.

“Awwwww,” he sighs. “Aww. Yes.”

He has no control about what he’s doing. For it’s not his hand that’s now fully wrapped around his cock, but Curt’s. It’s Curt’s hand that starts stroking him urgently. And he knows exactly what Curt would do. Curt would show him a wicked grin, he’d whisper naughty things in his ear and make him come even faster than usual.

Only, Curt isn’t really there, of course, this is not real, and Sam is too stoned and too out of it to finish. He falls asleep before he comes.

 

_There’s a man standing at the end of the corridor, and his back is turned towards Sam. He’s naked from the waist up; black, tight leather pants are covering his legs. Sam steps closer to the man, he can’t make out that much from the distance, there’s some weird fog in the air, and he feels like he’s floating. Maybe he is, but he doesn’t look down at what his feet are doing. He’s just staring at the man he’s getting closer to, he almost feels drawn towards him like a puppet on a string._

_When Sam is almost there, the man turns. Sam knows before he really sees the other’s features that it’s Curt, has been Curt all along. Still, he takes his time to examine him close, he takes in the long blonde hair, the dark circles around the eyes, the pale, slim body covered with a glistening film of sweat and glitter._

_“Hello, Sam.”_

_Sam stops his observations in an instant._

_“You… know my name?”_

_“Of course I do.” Curt smiles, making Sam feel all tingly and special. “Come closer. Let me take a look at you.”_

_Sam is dumbstruck and hesitates a moment too long._

_“Come here, Sam.. Don’t be frightened.”_

_“I… I’m not frightened.”_

_“Of course you're not.”_

_Sam swallows and slowly steps closer. He’s not afraid, not really. Anxious, maybe. Nervous, for sure._

_“Don’t be nervous, Sam. There’s no reason.”_

_Sam decides not to wonder how Curt knows all this. He decides not to wonder about anything anymore when he feels Curt’s thumb brushing across his lips._

_“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”_

_Sam blushes slightly and, for the first time, dares to look Curt directly in the eye._

_“Now, that’s better,” Curt encourages him. “Look at you. Look at how beautiful you are.”_

_Curt nods and Sam looks down on himself, not really shocked anymore by the fact that he’s naked all of a sudden. It doesn’t scare him, either. It feels… right. As if clothes were a concept of an imaginative world. And although Curt still wears his leather pants, it makes sense. For black pants on Curt are the right thing, the real thing._

_“I like your make up,” Curt remarks._

_“Really? I hoped you would,” Sam admits, gaining another of those wonderful smiles._

_“I do. It’s perfect. As are you. As we will be together.”_

_Sam begins to breathe harder. Curt cups his cheek and draws him closer._

_“Perfect. You know the feeling? Of being the centre of everything? Together, we’ll be the centre of the universe, Sam. Do you want me to show you?”_

_“Yes. Yes, please show me.”_

_“I will. You will be my main man for tonight. Just relax, Sam.”_

_Sam lets his head fall back and closes his eyes. He’s in the middle of a rush of feelings, attacking him all at once, and the intensity of it all is almost too much. One of Curt’s leather covered legs is sneaking its way in between his very own legs; he feels cold leather against his thighs, his cock and his balls. Curt’s mouth is sucking on the skin somewhere between his neck and shoulders, his hands are kneading his ass. Sam opens his mouth to moan, overwhelmed and more aroused than ever._

_“You like that?” Curt whispers, and Sam nods frantically. And then, Curt’s mouth is back on his body, his fingers pinch his nipples, and Sam thinks that this must be heaven or something close to it._

_Sam reaches out, he needs to touch Curt too. He touches leather, moves further up and then, finally, it’s Curt under his fingers and it’s perfect. Curt hums against his neck and Sam is proud of himself for making the other man feel good, too._

_“Come on, Sam. Let’s go over here.”_

_There’s a mattress on the floor, it’s made for two people, and it looks like the most inviting place Sam could imagine. He lets Curt guide him onto the makeshift bed and watches in awe when the leather pants come off and Curt’s cock, full and hard and ready, comes into view._

_“You like that, too?” Curt asks him again, and Sam thinks that no, he is not gay, but he wants Curt Wild to fuck him right now so, so badly._

_“Please…” he pleads, letting the unfinished question hang in the air between them, knowing that Curt will get him anyway._

_“It should be me who’s begging, you know,” Curt whispers. “You’re so young and beautiful and innocent - I’m the lucky one.”_

_“No, no,” Sam argues. “Please…”_

_Curt silences Sam with a finger, one of his delicate fingers complete with nail polish, and Sam doesn’t even think before he starts sucking on it._

_“Okay Sam, enough.”_

_Curt leans down, very close to Sam’s ear. “I need you to relax now, Sam. Just trust me. You know I won’t hurt you.”_

_Sam doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to, and when Curt’s finger starts opening him up, it doesn’t hurt at all._

_“That’s it. Very good.”_

_Sam smiles at Curt, a smile that’s saying ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘now’. It’s a smile Curt understands._

_In the next moment, Sam is on his back with Curt is hovering above him. Sam knows Curt is fucking him, only, he’s not sure exactly how and when it happened. All he knows is that this is his first time, and it doesn’t hurt but feels so very good instead. It even gets better when Curt starts jerking him off - how long Sam has dreamed about this, about having Curt touching him, being inside him, he doesn’t remember. And what’s most astounding is the fact that he hasn’t come yet, even after all the stimulation. He’s still hard and aroused, and he knows he won’t last that much longer but for now, he still does._

_“You are amazing,” Curt praises him from above. “So hot, so tight, so perfect. You and me, we are…”_

_And then, Curt makes the strangest noise. It doesn’t sound human at all, it sounds more like…_

 

The alarm is beeping, waking Sam up. He is at home, in his bed, alone and still painfully hard. It’s not the first time this has happened, so Sam doesn’t even take his time to curse at the alarm, maybe even throw it against a wall. He knows what he needs to do, and he needs to do it fast. As long as it’s still perfect. As long as he’s still perfect.

He gets out of bed and hurries over to the drawer. The weed, gone, but that’s what Sam’s emergency plan is there for. He grabs the can, the cloth and bag, prepares his little morning kick and walks to the closet. He pushes the clothes out of the way. And there is the rope, knot around the pole, forming a noose.

_Perfect._

Sam pulls the rope over his head, closes the knot tightly around his neck, brings the bag close to his mouth and inhales deeply. And lets go. His arms move as on auto pilot: with one hand he holds onto the pole, with the other he starts jerking, to finally find the sweet release he’s been looking for since last night.

He’s close, so fucking close. The tight rope around his neck, making breathing so painfully hard and choking so much easier. The dizziness in his head caused by the lack of oxygen and the chemicals. And Curt is there, too, whispering about beauty and relaxing and calming him down. And Sam jerks, faster and faster. This will be it. The perfect moment. The perfect orgasm.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam registers his mother’s voice, but he can’t care about that now, he can’t, because he’s _almost_ there and… all of a sudden, he falls down.

It wasn’t a major earthquake but just the pole breaking in two, sending Sam flying to the ground, buried under a pile of clothes. From hazy pre-orgasmic dullness to unsatisfied painful reality without prior warning.

And when his mother, Adam and Ryan suddenly enter his room and look at him even more perplexed than usual, Sam feels anything but perfect. Because he isn’t.

But he’d never blame Curt for making him believe he could be.

 

~End~


End file.
